


Dance of Death

by Pixiespriteify



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Widowtracer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9831698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiespriteify/pseuds/Pixiespriteify
Summary: A take on how Amélie Lacroix came to be Widowmaker, and how her relationship with Lena evolves and affects her decisions in both of her incarnations, past and future.





	

The night cloaked her movements as she crossed the roof in long, graceful bounds. The edge approached quickly, the starry night skystretching on until it brushed the silhouettes of the distant mountains. With all the finesse of a dancer, she extended her arm and aimed her grappler. It caught, and she swung out across the edge, over the sea of glittering lights from vehicles and buildings. With a practised motion, she timed her jump and released the grappler. In that moment, she was in free fall. She soared for a few brief seconds above the chaos and noise of the city. Any ordinary person would feel a shiver of fear, or maybe appreciate the freedom. But Widowmaker did not. The only thing that set her chilled blood aflame was the thrill of the kill.

She grappled onto another building and shot upwards, landing on her chosen roof in a smooth roll. She came to a halt, her visor sliding down to scan for signs of life, just in case. Seeing none, she stood, reaching behind her for her gun. It seemed to fit into her hands as naturally as any of her limbs. An extension of her own body.

She approached the roof edge, peering over to the next building. A residential apartment block.

Dropping into a crouch, she lined up her shot through the scope. There he was. Her target was leaning over his desk, rubbing his forehead. A lawyer. She had memorised his file. Three children. A widow.

These facts flashed up in Widowmaker’s brain as she tightened her finger on the trigger. To her, he was just a mission. An exercise. Prey.

Her heart rate remained quickened slightly as she squeezed the trigger. Suddenly, a flash of light blue swept past her scope just as the chamber expelled the bullet. Something slammed into the gun barrel, throwing her aim off.

“ _Merde_!” she cursed, watching the bullet shatter a window a few rooms to the left of her target. She spun, searching her visor for the source. Across the roof she could see nothing, yet she knew that girl was here. That pest. That -

“Y’alright, love?” said a voice in her ear. 

* * *

 

“Y’alright, love?” asked a voice, drawing Amélie out of her whirling thoughts. She turned to see a young woman standing beside her, a bright smile on her face. “You look away with the fairies there, love. Anything I can help you with?”

Amélie frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of this petite woman. She had met some of Gérard’s colleagues before, the likes of Morrison, Amari and Reyes, but only in passing. She didn’t spend an awful lot of time in the base. So what was she doing here?

“Love?” asked the woman again, waving her hand in front of Amélie’s face.

“ _Excuse-moi,”_ replied Amélie, running a hand over her long, black tresses with an attempt at an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, I am not quite with it today.”

The woman laughed, a happy, boisterous laugh that proved infectious, melting away Amélie’s bad mood. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. It bore the Overwatch insignia, so she must work here. “You look familiar,” the woman continued, squinting slightly as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Do you work here?”

Amélie shook her head. “ _Non, non._ I am here for Gérard Lacroix.” She checked her watch, pulling back the sleeve of her navy blazer. “He appears to be late.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the woman, slapping her forehead with her palm. “You must be Amélie!”

Though still taken aback by the woman’s infectious energy, it was preferable to lingering awkwardly in the corridors waiting for her husband. So she offered her hand with a small smile. “ _Enchantée.”_

Lena laughed again. “Ain’t you fancy,” she said, not unkindly as she took Amélie's hand firmly. “Lena Oxton.”

Amélie noticed Lena’s hands were rough and calloused – clearly used to hard work.

“A pleasure,” Amélie replied, genuinely glad that she had met with her.

“I’m afraid Gérard’s still in a briefing. If Morrison’s in there, it’ll probably take another hour at least.” Amélie nodded with a heavy sigh. She was all too aware of how long these things can take. Lena frowned for a moment before brightening again. “I was just going to the caff for a cuppa. You’re more than welcome to join me.” She jerked a thumb at the long corridor, a few people bustling here and there. “Beats waiting out here.”

Amélie mulled it over for a moment, before nodding. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

* * *

 

" _Merci_!" she hissed angrily in reply. "For ruining my shot!"

A giggle sounded from her left. She spun, but saw nothing. But a voice came from her other side. "I thought you never miss." She could feel something brush her arm.

Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. Another flash of blue, a breath of wind, and the presence at her side was gone.

That voice. The blue light. The bane of her life.

She turned to see Tracer, that irritating fly, perched on a low wall a few metres behind her. She was crouched down, arms draped over her knees and a wide grin on her face.

“All the better for seeing you, _chérie_ ,” she purred as she flicked a switch on her rifle. As it settled into its assault rifle mode, she raised it, aiming it straight at Tracer. “I wonder if red suits you.”

Tracer giggled again – the sound made Widowmaker’s teeth grind – and uncrossed her arms, revealing her twin pistols. “I think it’d suit you better.”

With that, she let loose a volley of pulses. Widowmaker ducked and wove to the right, spinning and firing two shots at Tracer, who blinked across the roof.

“ _Petite merde!_ ” she hissed, following her and firing.

Tracer blinked back and forth, sending a hail of blasts her way, but Widowmaker dived for cover. Her com device crackled.

“Widowmaker,” said Reaper, his voice warped by static. “ETA on your return?”

Widowmaker ducked as a pulse exploded above her head. “I’ve been delayed. There’s something I must deal with.”

Widowmaker heard a groan. “Overwatch?”

“ _Oui_ ,” she sighed.

“Take them out and get back here. Quickly.”

The line went dead. Widowmaker slid her visor on and popped up from behind the wall, finger itching on the trigger.

“So,” said Tracer from her left. Widowmaker swung at her, firing a shot, but she was gone before it impacted. “Your target,” she said from her right. Again, Widowmaker fired at her. “Why do you have to kill him?” she asked from behind her.

Widowmaker paused, quirking her eyebrow. After all this time, she had learned to just indulge Tracer in her chattering. “Killing is the job of an assassin, _non_?”

Tracer’s cheery demeanour had faded slightly as she stood on the wall surrounding the edge of the roof. The pistols were aimed at her, but she didn’t fire. Widowmaker watched her closely, waiting for her chance to attack.

“You were one of us once,” said Tracer, her tone oddly flat.

“Once,” repeated Widowmaker, and then leapt forwards, slamming into Tracer and throwing her from the roof. 

* * *

 

The door to the café swung open, slamming Amélie into Lena, who acted quickly and steadied Amélie just in time before she fell to the floor.

“ _Désolé!”_ said Amélie, her cheeks tinged pink as she bent to pick up her bag.

Lena, however, beat her too it, offering the bag to Amélie. “Don’t worry,” she smiled. “You get used to that here, nobody really looks where they’re going.”

Lena danced up to the counter, leaving Amélie to trail after her, staring around the cafeteria. As expected, it wasn’t really built for comfort. It reminded her of a hospital cafeteria – now those she was more used to. She dearly hoped she’d never have to sit in another one, waiting for the worst news in the world to be delivered.

“Oi!” shouted Lena across the café. Only a few other patrons were there, most of them immersed in their work. “What do you want? It’s on me!”  
Amélie found herself smiling again. “That’s not necessary –” she started, digging into her bag for some money.

Lena just waved her away. “It’s fine, love!”

“But –”

“I insist.”

Amélie shook her head, exasperated yet amused. “Tea, please. Jasmine, if they have it.”

While Lena paid, Amélie picked a table by the window, wanting to look out at the view. It always calmed her, and the sun’s rays evaporated any trace of her mood. She knew what she was getting when she married Gérard, but she was allowed to be discontent sometimes, especially when his lateness was becoming a pattern. These days, she was lucky if he even showed up when they were meant to meet.

Before she could spiral back into her moodiness, Lena appeared, slamming a cup of tea onto the table in front of her. “I had to fight them for that,” Lena said with a wink. “That was the last jasmine one. We’re not used to fancy stuff here.”

Amélie chuckled, shrugging off her trenchcoat and hanging it on the back of her chair before sliding into it. “Well, thank you.”

Lena gulped from her own mug. “Just council tea for the rest of us.” Amélie quirked an eyebrow, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. For the first time, she felt like she could relax a bit in here. “Black tea with milk, love.”

“I see.” Lena gulped down more of her tea. “So,” she said, tapping her fingers against her cheek. “You work here?”

“Is that a surprise?” asked Lena with a grin. “Do I look that young?”

Amélie balked, backtracking. “ _Non_ , not at all! I merely meant –”

Lena cut her off, her laughter echoing off of the corridor walls. “Don’t worry yourself, love, I’m just teasing.” She ran a hand through her spiky hair. “I know what people think of me, though.”

Amélie leaned forwards, intrigued. “What do they think?”

Lena looked mildly surprised, but sat back, curling her knees up to her chest, cradling her mug close. “Well, most people tell me I’m too young to be a test pilot.”

Amélie shrugged. “Must be a damn good one to be here. You age only makes it more impressive.”

Lena waved a hand, grinning broadly. “I’ve already paid for your drink, there’s no need to flatter me.”

“It’s the truth!” defended Amélie. “You’re at the top of your field! Gérard always talks about one of the pilots, a young woman. He’s incredibly fond of you.”

This time, Lena nearly choked on another large gulp of tea. “No! Really?”

Amélie nodded. “Really. He says you blow the other ones out of the water.”

“How sweet!” Lena’s cheeks flushed at the compliment. “What is it you do?”

Amélie shifted, looking a tad uncomfortable. “I’m a dancer.”

“Ah,” said Lena knowingly. “Should’ve guessed. No normal person has that much grace and poise just sitting there.”

Again, Amélie laughed. “Now who’s being sweet?”

Lena held up her hands in surrender. “It’s the truth, nothing more, nothing less.” She uncurled her legs, resting her elbows on the table. “But really, that’s amazing. The amount of strength dancers have, mentally and physically.”

“Most people assume I’m an airhead. Pretty but not much going on in here,” she sighed, tapping her temples.

Lena was shaking her head before Amélie had even finished. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. I wish I had a sense of rhythm. Two left feet, me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, _chérie_.”

“You’d be surprised.” 

* * *

 

As Tracer fell, Widowmaker aimed her sniper rifle, the scope lining up with Tracer’s accelerator on her chest. It was perfect. All she had to do was pull the trigger and she’d be free of this pest. But she froze. Her heart raced, thundering in her ears. She couldn’t do it.

She saw Tracer fade into blue light, reappearing back on the roof where she had been a few seconds before. Her orange goggles glinted in the moonlight as she blinked right up to Widowmaker, jamming her gun right into her cheek.

“You were Amélie once,” Tracer murmured, so quiet Amélie could barely hear her. “You can be again.”

Widowmaker sneered, masking the fact that her pulse was rushing. “I can’t.” With that, she pushed Tracer away, going for her gun. When she looked up, Tracer was gone in a flash of blue light. 

* * *

 

Amélie escaped from the throng of people, blinking as a blue light flashed in her eyes. All this fanfare, all this celebration, and the star of the event was nowhere to be seen. The maiden voyage of the Slipstream was to commence, and everyone seemed to caught up in last minute checks to notice that the pilot was gone.

“Nervous, _chérie_?” asked Amélie, sitting down beside an anxious Lena Oxton.

“Me?” replied Lena, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “Nervous?” she laughed, a sound that was so foreign to her, so fake. “Nope. Not at all. You know me. Never nervous. I fly jets, why is this any different? I’m not nervous, who said?”

“Well,” said Amélie knowingly. “You sound as if you’ve downed a hundred espressos at once.”

“Who says I haven’t?” was Lena’s quick reply.

Amélie could see her foot twitching, her knee going. She had never seen her this bad before. “Lena,” she said softly, taking her shaking hands. Her voice echoed in the empty changing room. “You don’t have to do this.”

Lena scoffed, unable to meet Amélie’s eyes. “Yes I do. It’s what I trained for.”

Amélie had suspected that would be her answer. She placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the smooth material of the pilot jumpsuit beneath her fingers. “I suspect I cannot talk you out of this.”

“I want to do it. Let’s face it,” she said with an attempt at a laugh. “I’m the only one who can. This Slipstream business, they’ve paid so much money, put in so much effort. I’ve trained so hard for it.” Amélie chuckled along with her. “But still, I…”

Amélie waited patiently, but Lena never finished her sentence. Instead, Amélie leaned forwards, enveloping Lena in a hug. “If you’re sure.”

Though Amélie was always supportive of Lena’s endeavours – the sensible ones at any rate – this particular mission made her uneasy. True, it was the highlight of Lena’s career. But it was also incredibly risky. The science they were using was groundbreaking, but experimental. Theoretical. At least until today.

Amélie really wanted to tell Lena not to do it, to stay safe. They had become firm friends, mostly hanging out when they were both at the base, but sometimes Lena went to see her at her shows, even if she was on a tour. Amélie saw more of Lena than Gérard these days, what with him off on Overwatch business all the time.

Amélie felt Lena’s arms wrap around her.

“I know you’d rather I didn’t go,” mumbled Lena against Amélie’s collarbone.

Amélie pulled back a little. “ _Chérie_ , I don’t –”

“It’s okay,” smiled Lena. “You want me to be safe. This is about as far from safe as you can get. You have a good poker face, but you’re not that good.”

Amélie acquiesced with a sad smile.

“But your support anyway is just…” Lena tailed off, hugging Amélie close again. “Thank you.”

“Just...” Amélie could feel herself close to tears. “Just come back.”

Lena nodded, sniffing. Amélie could feel her shirt grow damp with tears. “I will.”


End file.
